Gallery of Myth

By T.A. Page

What's a lonely twenty-something daydreamer to do when she comes across a fantasy story she wrote a decade ago? Why, take it to the internet, of course! 

 

Ashley is recently relocated, recently single, and always the first to laugh at herself. When she starts a blog and begins transcribing her tale of star travel onto the internet, her only goal is to share a chuckle with a few friends. But soon, her blog posts cover more than constellations and rare words. Ashley finds herself spilling her inner thoughts onto the blank screen, juxtaposed with her childhood writings. And as she and her characters become more and more entwined, she can't help but wonder: what is truly real? And *how* did her younger self have everything lined up perfectly when her adult self can't even convince one coworker to cooperate?

 

Part fantasy, part tell-all blog, Gallery of Myth is an anti-coming-of-age story that's at times amusing, angry, and out of this world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Hartford
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985757705

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T.A. Page

Gallery of Myth

Copyright © 2022 by T.A. Page

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

T.A. Page has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

First edition

ISBN: 979-8-9857577-0-5

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

To everyone who showed an interest in this quixotic bundle of emotions that became a novel: thank you, thank you, thank you. (And sorry for the rants.)

I was going to give you a map of the stars to follow along with, but you know what? I lost mine ages ago. Go and get your own constellation map—and while you’re at it, go stargazing.

Contents

Warning

1. Start Here

2. Dash In

3. Help!

4. Man in the Moon

5. Side Pieces

6. Paramnesia

7. Intrigue Me

8. Creativi-tea

9. Coddiwomple

10. Double Digits

11. Anger Management

12. Animorphs

13. Critical Fail

14. Selenotropism

15. Hopeless

16. Werds R Gud

17. A Little Information

18. Ageism?

19. Retrouvaille

20. Starry Mess

21. Cow Tools

22. Why

23. The Scale of Like

24. Monachopsis

25. Story Time

26. Happy Banana Birthday

27. Coincidence

28. Fly Me to the Moon

29. Hate Hate Hate

30. Lucida

31. Ultracrepidarian

32. Tea Time

33. The One (That Got Away)

34. D&D Interlude

35. Spice and Skittles

36. Dramatize Anything

37. Halloween

38. Philophobia

39. Radio Silence

40. Thanks One and All

41. Cars on a Cable

42. Metanoia

43. Strategic Incompetence

44. Gallery Cheer

45. The Twelve Constellations of Christmas

46. Resolution

47. Apocalypse 2020

48. Epanorthosis

49. Gifts We Really Need

50. Gifts We Really Love

51. Bot Love

52. Love Cubed

53. Epeolatry

54. Circles

55. Murder Most Deserved

56. Destination Inspiration

57. Food

58. The Ides of Love

59. Sciamachy

60. Dress Rehearsal

61. Gallery Hollaback

62. Zemblanity

63. May Day

64. X-Ray Vision

65. Lalochezia

66. SQUIRREL!

67. Beach Requiem

68. Don’t Look Back

69. Gone Forever

70. Whelve

71. Musically Yours

72. Liberty!

73. Modern Magic

74. Welkin

75. Stereofree

76. The Village

77. Gamify

78. Surround Sound

79. Vilipend

80. Dog Days

81. Christmas Comes Early

82. Disappoint

83. Love is Messy

84. Heuristic

85. Wide, Wide World

86. Wordy Little Secret

87. Nemesism

88. Call off the Hunt

89. All Hail

90. True Grit

91. Retrodict

92. Mirror, Mirror

93. Many Happy Returns

94. Hiraeth

95. Book It

96. No Fantasy

97. Merry Holidays

98. Auld Lang Syne

99. Adomania

100. You Have Shoes on Your Feet

101. What’s My Age Again

102. Excuses

Book Club Exclusive: TEA’s Interview and Questions for Further Discussion

About the Author

Warning

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

False frost can cause a true shiver,

From a fake may arise real thought.

J.R.R. Tolkien, with adaptation

1

Start Here

February 14, 2018

Hi everyone, I’m Ashley. And I want to make this clear from the start: I’m not into nostalgia. I take pictures of plants, not people, I don’t like sappy songs, and I will pass on any rose-colored days-of-yore-o-vision goggles the moment they come out. But really, sometimes when you find the things the old you wrote, they’re just too funny to pass up.

For those of you who didn’t read the About page—and really, I don’t blame you—this is what’s up. Recently I went through the sort of box that gets packed with high school memories and forgotten the moment college begins, and in among the old journals, I found a story I wrote a long time ago. We’re talking long enough ago that the whole thing is handwritten in a series of spiral notebooks. It’s not exactly worthy of the Library of Congress, but it is a bit cute, so I sat down and made this blog in order to put it out into the wide world, one bit at a time.

Put out the story, that is.

Let’s start before I say anything more embarrassing, shall we?

* * *

There was a croak in the dead of night as the timber gate of the outer wall swung open. Two armored horses bearing tall, noble riders made their way out through the fields. They made it halfway down one fenceline before the larger form turned and jostled the smaller.

How about a game of stabsies?

"No! Why would we be playing any game on such an important mission?"

You know it always makes you less nervous!

I’m not nervous. I just don’t want to be doing this.

"But it was your idea to make the raid!"

"All I said was we ought to have more information about the people we’re going to fight, and specifically their witch. I did not volunteer to leave court—and without the king knowing!"

The first form struck at the other. The horses continued down the lane at an unperturbed canter. Terrible dodge! Weak!

Rude, retorted the second.

"You’d better be glad your father isn’t coming," the first grinned. His easy—if somewhat violent—manner revealed him as Benjamin Knight, the premier longswordsman of the country, sparring partner and frequent aider and abetter of the Crown Prince.

For his part the Prince, Richard, said nothing. After all, it was true: his father wouldn’t have much cause to be proud of a son who couldn’t deflect an honest jab. Or, for that matter, a son who left the castle in the middle of the knight to spring upon a sleeping enemy: it was very unsporting.

The light of the moon, unusually bright and close, guided the pair away from the summer training grounds and soon to the border with their sworn enemy. Scouting parties were frequent along the border, and Prince Richard could easily direct his horse and his friend along the paths they needed to take to get to the capitol. Luckily, as they crossed through hostile territory Benjamin became focused, and as the night passed the Prince was safe from any more stabs.

They reached their target just as the night was at its peak. Leaving tired horses behind, they crept on foot through the town and the maze of walls. Looming above the ominous quiet of orderly streets, the many towers of the Blessed Queen’s castle rose as though to look down noses of cultured stone.

Guess that’s what they mean by high and mighty, Benjamin muttered. Richard elbowed him, gesturing at the guard passing them by, but he had to admit—the capitol was much more impressive than its pictures had been.

Still, Richard was if nothing else an excellent studier of maps and pictures. Despite the fact that they were in a strange land for the first time, and trying to move quietly in mail to boot, they had no trouble locating the witch. Of course, that may have been because she happened to reside in the tower which oozed a noxious green smoke, but nonetheless, the mission was going remarkably well.

Good, good, said Benjamin as he caught up with the Prince. We’re scaling it, then?

Of course not, Richard replied automatically. Granted, the tower was on the edge of the castle complex, but if anyone was to see them—his mind raced through the possibilities. Bodily harm ranked high on the list.

You just don’t want a repeat of last time we went up The Rock.

I thought we agreed to be quiet?

"We agreed to get this done! Come on!"

But Ben—you saw those armor-piercing arrows yesterday—

All you’re about to see is the soles of my boots if you can’t keep up!

Richard sighed, and resigned himself to the climb. He wasn’t one to believe in dumb luck, but something had certainly favored them this far. Maybe, he thought, the people of Blessed were too exhausted from their feasting and parties to even think about sneak attacks on their witch’s tower. Maybe they were all too soundly asleep to look out their windows and see two large men clinging to the masonry like ninjas who’d failed Subtlety 101. Heartened, he climbed on.

When finally he reached the witch’s window and stepped in to inky blackness, Prince Richard realized how poorly this plan had been thought out. They were now standing in the witch’s quarters—where were they to go? The first thing that came to him as he scanned the room was a strange, earthy scent. The second thing was—

Oi! Earth to Prince! Why are you always so slow?

Hush, Benjamin! Richard swatted impatiently as though he could bat his retainer’s voice away. What’s going on?

What’s the plan?

"Couldn’t you have asked me that before dragging me out of bed?"

You mean you don’t have a plan??

Well, cut in the witch, obviously the plan is to get rid of you two.

Richard and Benjamin stared at each other, wide eyes barely connecting through the shadow.

Or maybe I’ll get rid of one, and keep the other? The unseen witch giggled. For information, you know.

Run! decided Richard, a moment after the knight at his side had done just that. He tried to move, too, and immediately bumbled in to something that chinked and shattered as he hopped past on one foot.

Get out of here! Richard cried to Benjamin, his voice becoming commanding in its desperation as around them the voice laughed. He could hear loud thumps from the other side of the room, and the familiar sound of Benjamin cursing. To get to it he’d have to cut across the empty space he’d just abandoned — the space not illuminated by the window beyond.

I found stairs! yelled Benjamin. The roaring in Richard’s ears increased.

He gasped as he shouted back, Go on then!

Get over here!

No, no, no, said the witch, but not in a despairing tone. It sounded like she was playing with them. Only one!

Benjamin, meanwhile, sounded miles away. Straight through, come on, it’s just an old woman! What could an old witch really do to us, anyway?

The witch cackled, and the sound seemed to come from everywhere. You think you can see the right way to take?

There was crashing, and swirling, and chiming, and Richard could not tell which voice was his own any more. He went headfirst into the blackness and his feet left the ground as he tried one more time to cry out to his friend—

We agreed to get this done!

2

Dash In

February 21, 2018

Now, a few people have told me I was a bit awkward with the first post. (Story of my life!) Really, though, I didn’t mean to come on too strong. It’s just, if we’re being honest, and only like two people will ever read this all the way through so why not be, right? Anyway if we’re being honest, I just moved and I’m tired. Not of feeling homesick or nostalgic, but of people assuming I feel that way.

Now Richard, on the other hand—but you don’t know that yet, do you? Oops. I had forgotten most of the things about Richard aside from where he ends up. I guess that’s the danger of a story written by a naive teenage girl: the guy ends up under-developed. I’m fixing some of that as we go along because I have to type up the story for the first time and sometimes I can’t bear to type what I originally wrote without making it about 20% cooler. Or trying to, anyway. I won’t be changing the plot, though, for you purists out there. Just making the characters more 3D.

With that in mind, I expanded this next intro a bit. And please, after you read it, feel free to comment. Even if you say something cutesy about when we were kids, I promise I won’t bite your head off. (This is the internet, remember? Nothing is real here. You’re safe!)

* * *

Yavalinra! Ava! What are you doing?

What’s it look like? I’m escaping.

You can’t—that’s not—get back here right now, little sister!

Yavalinra, Princess of the Blessed Land, turned to look down upon her older brother. He stood, puffing a bit in his third-finest coat, right underneath her tree. You’re going to tear something, he insisted, gesturing to her trailing dress. It had indeed snagged on a few twigs on the way up, but Ava wasn’t interested.

Better to tear a dress than die of boredom, she retorted at once, and began apeing the ministers. "‘Oh, Your Highness, what is your opinion on the cold soup?’ ‘Did you hear that Rann’s son has taken ill?’ ‘Has the Queen picked a spot for the new garden?’ ‘I heard a noise from the witch’s tower two nights ago! Isn’t that interesting?’"

Her brother laughed as she drawled out the last syllables. It’s not fair you grew up to be such a good mimic.

I ought to run away and join the circus, and leave the princessing to all my sisters.

You’d get bored of that too, said the prince wisely as he settled against the large tree trunk which Ava had scaled. They wouldn’t be interested in your thoughts on—what was it?—‘human rights and civil responsibilities’ there.

Ava threw a leaf at him, a frustratingly ineffective gesture. You know exactly what it is, Van. You’ve heard me talk about it for years now.

Yes, and maybe if you could restrain yourself and talk evenly about it, the court would understand your point, he returned.

How can I talk like I don’t care about it when it’s so important to everyone living in our country?!

Van laughed as her voice rose, as though she’d proved his point. Ava sighed. Her brother had the ministers and everyone else wrapped around his finger, and had since they were children; but she, now past twenty, seemed a perpetual outsider in court. He told her, You’d better be careful at the Declaration next month.

Of course I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.

You know what happened last ti—

Yes I know! Ava looked away, hoping the leaves obscured the sudden tears in her eyes. Now who’s the boorish one, reminding me of that?

I just don’t want you to be hurt again, her brother said softly. "I really do think your cause is just, Ava. You just have to make them see that. Otherwise—"

You don’t have to tell me.

He didn’t, and for a moment they sat in silence.

Tell me why it is, her brother said eventually, in a much lighter tone, "that every Full Moon Celebration seems to end this way?"

Because, Ava retorted at once, why bother looking at all those gaudy people in their shallow finery, when you can come out here and look at the moon and stars?

Harsh words, little sister. But you have a point. The Prince shifted against the tree trunk to grin up at her. Sometimes I doubt you are from this land at all—and then you go and say something like that.

"I wasn’t trying to be poetic," Ava protested, but it didn’t matter.

Their conversation was cut short as the usual round of trysting ministers began to pour forth from the banquet hall. Thanks in part to her brother’s aid in creating a distraction, the Princess Yavalinra was able to make an escape, returning to her room thinking,

If only everything were so easy.

3

Help!

March 1, 2018

Sorry this post is running late—only three posts in, and I’m already behind! I could give the usual excuses, like the new job being a blur of meeting people and anxiety, or the unpacking from moving that I still haven’t done, or the strangely vital necessity of setting up internet in a new home or the exhaustion once said internet is up of not overthinking the fact that my ex congratulated me on social media. But honestly, it’s because I couldn’t decide where to split this next scene.

Even when it comes to decisions with no real consequences, the Indecision Monster gets me. Gah!

Well, I made the decision eventually, so here you go. At least there’s now fewer days until the next post, right? And that’s a good thing, because–you guessed it–you’re getting a cliffhanger. Or I suppose, another cliffhanger. Muahaha!

* * *

Ava drifted through her room, shedding pieces of finery as she went. The heavy, beaded overskirt was the first to go, draped on a nearby chair; then the jeweled hair comb and the pins that scratched; then the necklaces and bracelets, heavy in their own way, like badges of deep responsibility. She didn’t mind responsibility in general, but she did resent being told she was responsible for the country and then laughed at for actually thinking about the commoners.

It was a resentment she thought about a lot, and despite Van’s gentle teasing, her mind raced along that well-worn track now. She tied back long silver hair—another mark of her royal blood and duty—with a ratty, well-worn scarf and climbed the stairs to her balcony.

Aside from the witch’s tower, Ava’s room was the highest in the castle. She had got it almost by accident, because few of her siblings wanted it, and the one who might have—Ylandria, the more jealous and petty of the sisters, in Ava’s opinion—was conveniently afraid of heights. To Ava it was the one perfect place within the royal walls. She took great comfort in climbing to the open roof and watching the night sky.

The moon is so bright tonight. Lulled by the distant chatter of the continuing Full Moon Celebration, Ava spoke to herself without thinking about it. Not thinking about much at all, she traced a familiar orbit to the wooden railing at the edge of the flat roof.

It’s almost like it’s here, she laughed absentmindedly. Below her, the trees of the castle garden swayed, toddler size in comparison with her tower. They clamored upward for her attention, and she looked down and told them, I think I’d like that.

Really? Well that’s good, because—

Ava whirled, reasonably certain that the voice had not come from a tree. Who told you you could come up here?

A moment late, the princess remembered her stance, and her weapons. From the sash at her waist she drew thin daggers attached to long strips of cloth, briefly thankful she had ditched her heavier clothing. Settling herself with daggers in hand, she waited.

But no reply came.

Richard was too stunned to speak, not least because he had managed to speak in the first place.

Don’t tell me; you’ve suddenly become shy? Ava’s eyes ran over the railings and the doorway, searching for the person who had spoken, expecting a boy but seeing no more than errant moon rays. Or maybe you’ve remembered that of all the Royal Heirs, I’m the best with scarf blades?

It was a lie, actually: the best was Vanderlina, the youngest, who had taken to defense training most readily. But Ava came from a family of mostly sisters, so she knew how to conceal her fear. Richard, knowing none of these things and uncertain what to do when faced with a very tall woman with a very fierce face, wavered. Around him the light walls of his prison seemed more magical than ever.

In front of—or rather just below—him, the princess sighed and straightened. She glanced around the balcony. Look, I hate games. I know you’re here. Now tell me why, and we can both go about our evening without imagining knives at our backs.

But I really don’t know why, Richard answered without thinking. He hoped that in the real world, as he thought of everything beneath him in his current prison, his voice didn’t sound as petulant as it did to his ears.

Ava’s eyebrows creased. "It’s kind of hard to navigate hallways, climb a bunch of stairs, open several locked doors, and then climb another set of stairs for good measure without knowing why."

I didn’t, insisted Richard. He was still surprised she could hear him. But everyone, even in Runn, knew that the royal family of the so-called Blessed Land liked to think they had some connection with the sky. Judging by her hair and the fact that she had mentioned the Heirs, he figured she was one of them, and maybe their stories had some truth. But how to talk to a princess of the castle which two nights ago he had hoped to raid?

Richard cleared his throat and tried to sound more like his father. I’m very sorry, but you see, there’s been an accident, or actually, a series of them. Somehow I found myself up here, in the moon, and it’s very boring up here, so I was looking around, and I just happened to hear you just now—

The moon.

Right, right, well as you can see, it was obviously magic—

"The moon? You really expect me to believe that? Get away from my tower, you crazy pervert!"

I’m not though!

Not in the moon? Oh, heavens, I’m shocked.

It’s really not funny! You have to listen to me—

"No, I really don’t, and I don’t want you listening to me either. Get lost!"

But please! If you can hear me, then maybe you can help!

4

Man in the Moon

March 7, 2018

Like a lot of other writers-who-started-writing-as-kids, I look back now and can see that my young self wrote a lot of derivative work. That one story I wrote during the fourth grade for a book-making project, that I was so proud of? Centered around a dragon just like the one in Tamora Pierce’s The Immortals series. But I don’t